


Come For A Ride

by zeldamonkey



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldamonkey/pseuds/zeldamonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were pictures of Harry riding a motorcycle, and then this happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come For A Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://tmblr.co/Zs4AGo1A3lLjE).

Nick rings Harry as soon as he sees the pictures. He doesn’t care what bloody time it is in LA, Harry deserves to be woken up for this.

It rings out the first time, but Nick immediately redials. Harry’ll always pick up for him, even when he shouldn’t; it’s one of the reasons Nick’d believed him when he’d said he wanted to try to make this thing between them work.

"H’lo? Grim?"

Harry’s voice is gravelly with sleep. Nick has a brief moment of remorse for waking him, before remembering that this is Harry, so he’ll be out like a light again the minute Nick rings off.

"Styles, tell me you’ve not gone and bought a bloody motorcycle."

"Oh, have you been stalking me on the internet again?” Harry yawns, and Nick imagines him spread out on a crisp white hotel linen, scratching himself idly as he always does when he’s just woken up. "Um, I might be thinking about it?"

"Are you mental? I couldn’t believe it when I saw the pictures."

He can practically hear Harry’s shrug. “‘S cool, though, isn’t it. Good fun.”

"Right up until you lose a bloody _leg_ , Harold,” Nick says. “You know what the people in A&E call them, don’t you? Donorcycles.”

A sleepy chuckle. “Hey, that’s a good one, I like it.”

"It’s not meant to be funny."

"I’m being careful, though," Harry says, conciliatory. It’s a tone Nick’s heard him use on Anne. Nick really, really never wants Harry to think of him like he does his parents. "I had my helmet on, didn’t I?"

"Yeah, you did." Nick makes himself take a deep breath. Is he overreacting? He’s probably overreacting. He’s just - it’s hard, Harry being so far away all the time. Nick’s not used to having an actual boyfriend and he’s discovered that it makes him embarrassingly protective. And as if it’s not enough having to worry about Harry setting himself on fire or accidentally braining himself with a golf club, now Nick apparently has motorcycles to worry about too.

"You alright, Nick?" Harry says, after a pause. He sounds genuinely concerned; he’s always been able to read Nick better than most.

"Yeah," Nick says. "Sorry. Just got myself a bit worked up, I think."

"Sure? Really?"

"Honest. Swear on Beyonce."

Harry does his little amused snort. “Okay. Well, if you’re sure. Just, it’s like, four in the morning here, and we start rehearsals tomorrow - or today now, I guess - so. If you’re okay, I should probably go.”

"Sorry, of course." They’ve probably got pyrotechnics or acrobatics or something to rehearse and now Nick’s gone and interrupted Harry’s sleep so he’ll do something stupid like fall on his head or walk into a - no. Nick clamps down on that line of thought before it goes any further. "Sorry to wake you."

"You’re fine. I’ll ring you tomorrow when we’re done, okay?" Another yawn. “Love you, bye."

He rings off before Nick has a chance to respond. Probably for the best: he and Harry have been ending their conversations with _love you_ practically as long as they’ve known each other, but lately Nick’s started to mean it. It can’t be long before Harry figures him out.

**

Harry doesn’t mention motorcycles on the phone the next day, or the day after that, and eventually Nick assumes he’s forgotten about it, just like the time he’d spent a week talking about making one wall of his new house into a giant aquarium, until Nick’d pointed out that Harry’s never at home and all his fish’d die. Harry’d gone around looking guilty about theoretical dead goldfish for days.

Anyway, it’s six long weeks until Harry’s due back in the UK, and the time drags and drags until suddenly it’s today, this afternoon, any minute now that Harry’s going to be on Nick’s doorstep. Nick’s in a bit of a state, having run out of things to occupy himself with after changing the sheets, cleaning the bathroom and even getting in some fruit and veg, though he’s not sure exactly what he’s intending to do with a swede. Or is it a turnip? He can never tell those two apart.

Perhaps more importantly, he’s sent Puppy off to have a play date with Thurston. Harry has a tendency to lavish unreasonable amounts of attention on her after he’s been away, and then Nick gets jealous, and then Harry makes fun of Nick for being jealous of his dog, and then Nick gets upset, and generally it all ends in less sex than Nick would like when he’s not seen his boyfriend in weeks.

So Nick’s all alone in the flat when he hears Harry’s key in the lock, and he immediately springs up and into the front hall to meet him. He second-guesses himself in the moment before the door opens - way to play it cool, Grimshaw, lurking by the door - but it’s too late to run back to the sitting room because here’s Harry, live and in person in Nick’s flat, tanned and smiling and holding -

Nick’s eyes narrow. “Is that a motorcycle helmet, Styles?”

"Hi." Harry leans up and presses a quick, wet kiss to Nick’s mouth. "Yes. But no more talking. Bedroom, now."

He pushes past Nick and on through the flat, dropping the helmet on the floor and stripping off articles of clothing as he goes - his shirt here, a shoe there. He’s limping a bit, Nick notices. Maybe he’s pulled a muscle riding his a bloody motorcycle.

"Um, did you not want to sit down and chat for a bit first?" Nick calls after him. He feels a bit wrong-footed, watching Harry’s naked, disappearing back; this was not how he’d imagined this reunion going. "Have a cuppa or something?"

Harry’s voice comes floating back to him from the direction of the bedroom. “We’ve been talking on the phone, haven’t we? Hurry up, I want you to fuck me.”

Right, good point. Why exactly is Nick trying to delay sex with his very attractive popstar boyfriend, again? He takes a moment to double back and lock the front door, then hot-foots it to his bedroom, where he finds Harry, naked as the day he was born, spreadeagled on top of Nick’s bed, one hand fisting his hard cock, and peeking out from between his arse cheeks -

"Jesus Christ, Harry. Is that - have you got a plug in?"

It’s not that Nick hasn’t noticed Harry’s into better living through sex toys - they’ve had plenty of phone sex in the past months where Harry’s been fucking himself with a vibrator - but it turns out it’s different seeing it in person. Hotter. Much, much hotter.

"Yeah." Harry’s voice is rough. He’s got his knees bent up, feet planted flat on the bed, hips rocking up into his fist. "Wanted to be ready for you to fuck me."

Nick hurriedly pulls his shirt over his head, gets his jeans and pants off. Harry looks like he’s already halfway to coming, the head of his cock leaking steadily. The room smells like sex. “When did you put it in?” he demands.

"Before I got on the bike. Fuck, Nick, it was insane, I almost came like three times on the way here."

Fucking hell. Nick climbs onto the bed, pushes Harry’s knees out so he can fit between them. He means to get Harry’s hand off his cock, slow things down a bit, but he can’t resist tracing a finger around the flared edge of the plug, where Harry’s still slick with lube. Harry makes a whining noise.

"Yeah?" Nick says. He taps the base of plug. "Want me to take this out and fuck you?"

"Yeah, f-fuck, oh, fuck, Nick - "

Nick pulls on the plug, just gently, teasing, and suddenly Harry’s hips come clear off the bed, arse clenching, and he comes, shooting right up onto his chest, over his ridiculous bird tattoos.

"Ohhhh, fuck," he groans when he’s finished pulsing, flopping back onto the bed. He’s got his eyes shut, a totally blissed-out expression on his face. "Fuck me, that was amazing."

Well. Harry does indeed look pretty amazing, sweaty and flushed and covered in his own come, but now Nick’s wishing he hadn’t gotten himself undressed quite so quickly. It’s cold in here, and Harry’s always totally useless for at least half an hour after he comes; longer if he falls asleep.

Nick gives his own cock an apologetic little squeeze - sorry, false alarm - and shifts out from between Harry’s legs, running a hand over Harry’s thighs as he eases them back together. “Right, well, I’ll just put some pants back on and do us a cuppa, shall I?”

Harry’s eyes shoot open and he grabs Nick’s wrist, fingers digging in. “No-ooo, don’t leave,” he says. “I want you to fuck me.”

Nick tries to free his arm. “Don’t be silly, you’ve just come. Give it a few minutes until you’re ready to go again. We can have a brew and I think I’ve even got some biscuits in.”

"Nick." Harry pushes him onto his back and rolls on top of him, pinning Nick’s wrists to the bed with his hands and sitting on his thighs. Nick always forgets, in between times, how strong Harry is these days. "I said, I want you to fuck me."

"And I said, give it a minute," Nick says. He bucks his hips up, trying to shift Harry off, and Harry makes a little noise and goes cross-eyed. Oh, right - he’s still got the plug in, and he must be incredibly sensitive since he’s just come.

But he doesn’t seem uncomfortable. “Nick.” Harry’s tongue darts out over his bottom lip. His expression is wicked. He shifts forwards so Nick’s cock is nestled between his arse cheeks and rocks his hips deliberately, not even trying to hide the gasp it forces out of him as the plug shifts. “Fuck. Come on, I want it. Don’t you want to fuck me?”

Of course Nick does. Nick wants everything Harry’ll let him have, and a few more things besides; but he’s been working on trying to be less obvious about it. He suspects he’s not doing very well.

"I do, but I want you to enjoy it," Nick makes himself say.

Harry rocks his hips again. “I will, I swear. I like it when it’s too much, sometimes.” He bites his bottom lip and drops his head so he’s looking at Nick through his eyelashes. “What if we did it like this, if I ride you? Then I can stop if it’s not good.”

Harry Styles is a menace. He should be illegal, or at least come with a warning label: _Attention Nick Grimshaw: behind this average face lies your doom_. "Alright, have it your way," Nick says. Harry always does, anyway.

Harry’s grin is instantaneous. “Wicked. Okay, let me just - ” he turns himself around so he’s facing Nick’s feet, arse in Nick’s face, and waggles his bum. “Will you take it out for me?”

It’s a lovely view, Harry’s arse with a plug in it. Nick can’t resist taking his time with it, cupping Harry’s bum and running his hands down Harry’s thighs before he even gets to the plug. Then he plays with that for a little bit, tapping the base and loving the way it makes Harry twitch.

"Nick, come on," Harry says after a minute. "Hurry up."

"Why should I?" Nick says absentmindedly, running a finger around the edge of the plug.

"Because if you don’t, I’ll do this," Harry says, and folds himself nearly in half to take the head of Nick’s cock into his mouth.

"And why," it’s an effort to keep his voice steady, Harry’s mouth is brilliant, "why would I not want you to do that?"

Harry lets Nick’s cock slip out of his mouth with a wet pop and straightens up, sending a smug glance back over his shoulder. “Because you want to fuck me just as much as I want to get fucked, and if you come in my mouth we’ll both have to wait.”

He may have a point. Nick gets a grip on the base of the plug and tugs. It slides out with a slick little noise and he drops it on the bed. Bugger the clean sheets. Or is it bugger _on_ the clean sheets? Both.

“Mm, much better, thanks,” Harry says. Then he wiggles his bum at Nick. “Shall we do it like this?”

Nick runs his hands down Harry’s sides to his hips. “No, turn around, I want to see you.”

It’s at least a minor miracle that no-one gets kneed in the face or groin, but eventually Harry’s settled facing Nick. “Hi,” he says, ducking in to press a quick kiss to Nick’s lips. “Missed you.”

It’s the way he just comes out and says it, like it’s easy as anything, that really gets to Nick. He tries to hide the way his heart’s just somersaulted in his chest with a joke. “Missed my cock, you mean,” he says, nudging it up against Harry’s bum. “I know the truth, Styles.”

Harry shrugs. “Well, yeah, of course. But I missed the rest of you, too.” He reaches behind him and grabs Nick’s cock, then shuffles back like he’s going to just go for it.

"Wait!" Nick grabs Harry’s waist, holding him off. For someone who’s technically an adult and frequently flies off alone around the world, Harry does need a lot of looking after. "Wait, don’t be an idiot, we need lube."

Harry pouts, but waits while Nick grabs the lube out of his drawer and slicks himself up.

"There we go. Come on, then."

Nick uses one hand to hold his cock steady for Harry and curls the other around Harry’s hip to help guide him down. Harry’s almost unbearably tight, even after the plug, and he’s biting his lip as he slowly sinks down on Nick’s cock.

“Alright?” Nick asks, when he’s about halfway there. “Not too much?”

Harry shakes his head. “Good,” he breathes. “Just out of practise.”

He pauses for a moment, eyes shut, when he’s taken Nick all the way. He’s got come drying on his chest and his hair’s squashed every which way - probably from the motorcycle helmet, Nick realises - and still, Nick would swear that Harry gets hotter every time Nick sees him. He’s definitely the most attractive man Nick’s ever slept with, and he used to go through models like loo roll.

Harry leans back and props his hands on Nick’s spread thighs for leverage, then lifts up a couple of inches and drops back down with a little huff of air. Nick’s got both hands on Harry’s hips. It’s so, so hard not to try to make Harry move, but Nick knows that if he does, Harry’ll go even slower just to be contrary.

Another little roll of his hips, and Harry finally reopens his eyes. “Okay, ‘m ready,” he says. “Touch me?”

Nick looks at Harry’s cock, doubtful. He’s not even hard; it can’t be more than fifteen minutes since he came.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, come on.”

Harry shudders at the first touch of Nick’s hand, but he doesn’t ask Nick to stop. He’s working himself on Nick’s cock properly now, lifting right up until just the head is stretching his rim, then sinking back down again. His thighs are straining with the effort, and Nick can see the muscles in his arms working as he moves. Nick loves how strong Harry is these days; he’s not usually gone for muscled types in the past, but with Harry it’s different, the lovely solid weight of him a reminder that he’s real.

"Can you - " Harry’s breath is coming in short gasps between words. "Can you go faster?"

Harry’s still only half-hard in Nick’s hand. Nick lets go of him for a second to find the lube and comes back with a slick hand, wraps his fingers around Harry’s cock and gives him a long stroke from base to crown.

"Ohhhh, yeah." Harry’s head drops back as he lifts himself up and fucks back down again. "That’s better, fuck, more."

Sweat’s starting to bead on Harry’s forehead and over his chest. Nick rests his free hand on Harry’s thigh, squeezing and feeling the muscles work. He can feel himself getting close, a slow build that’s almost more about how amazing Harry looks above him than how Harry feels clenching around his cock.

"I’m nearly there, love," Nick says, trying to concentrate on wanking Harry off smoothly to distract himself. "Are you going to come again?"

"M - maybe. I think so?" Harry changes the angle a bit, leaning back more, and fucks himself down hard. He’s trembling under Nick’s hand from the strain. "Keep going, I want to try."

Nick tightens his hand on Harry’s cock and wanks him faster, rapid strokes ending with a little twist of his palm over the head, just how Harry likes it. The new angle feels even better than before, Harry tight and hot and sinful around him, and it’s a struggle not to let go and just come. Then Harry speeds up, making little low moans every time he slams his hips down. 

"Yeah, that’s it, I think - I’m gonna come, Nick, fuck, I’m gonna - " he loses his rhythm, hips jerking in little tiny movements as he clenches tight around Nick’s cock and pushes up into Nick’s hand, and his cock pulses weakly, a few dribbles of come spilling over Nick’s fingers.

Nick can’t hold off any more. He takes his hand off Harry’s cock and grabs his hips, fucking up into him hard and fast. Harry’s gone limp as a rag doll, head lolling forward, but he’s still talking, “Fuck me, Nick, do it, c’mon, I want to feel you come in me, fill me up, fuck, make me take it,” and that’s it, Nick’s coming, emptying into Harry’s arse with a drawn-out moan.

Nick’s still catching his breath when Harry rolls off him and fumbles about in the bed for the lube. Then he fishes the plug out of the sheets where Nick’d dropped it earlier, and Nick watches in disbelief as he slicks it up again.

"You’re not going to, really?" Nick says. He’s torn between horror and admiration.

Harry shrugs. “Why not?”

“Because - you’re all messy.” With Nick’s come.

“I know, s’why I like it.” Harry reaches behind himself with the plug and wriggles about a bit. “Besides, you know what they say, ride ‘em hard and put ‘em away wet.”

Nick snorts. “Charming, Styles. Also - since I’m the one who got ridden, shouldn’t I be the one who gets put away wet?”

He regrets his words as soon as they’ve left his mouth. Harry, now with the plug back in, looks down at his soft cock and gives it a thoughtful squeeze. “Well, we can do that too if you’d like, but I reckon I’ll need at least an hour before I can go again.”

“Thanks, but no.” Nick doesn’t enjoy messing about with come nearly as much as Harry does, which worries him now and again. It’s just - whilst Nick’s always known that Harry’s pretty shameless, lately he’s been discovering that there’s very little Harry won’t do or say in bed. It’s terrifying. He’s absolutely going to get bored of Nick, who has even been known to enjoy boring old handjobs under the covers with the lights off.

“Oh, hey,” Harry says brightly, interrupting Nick’s thoughts. “I just remembered, I’ve brought you a present.”

Nick sits up, self-pity all but forgotten in the face of presents. “I should bloody well hope you have, that was six weeks you were gone,” he says. “It’d better be something nice.”

“I think it is. Hang on, it’s in my coat pocket.” Harry hops off the bed and his bare arse disappears out the door. A moment later he’s back, something cupped in his hands.

“Are you ready? Close your eyes, I want it to be a surprise.”

“You mean you didn’t wrap it? Poor form, Harold.” But Nick obediently closes his eyes and waits.

He feels the bed sag as Harry gets back on, and then Harry says, “Okay, ready, open up.”

Harry’s cross-legged in front of him, beaming, and in his hands he’s holding a plug. It’s bright pink.

Nick frowns. “You brought me a sex toy?”

“Yep!” Harry looks very pleased with himself. “It’s a plug, same as mine, only in pink so we can tell them apart.”

Nick tries to keep his voice level. “You went to California for six weeks and you’ve brought me a bit of silicone to go up my bum.”

Harry nods. “Yep.”

Nick really is in love with the world’s most ridiculous sex symbol. “But why?” he asks. “Why on earth did you think that was a good idea?”

“Well, you see,” Harry leans in like he’s got a secret, “that’s only the first part of the present. My bike’s parked just outside. Want to come for a ride?”


End file.
